What color red is she, I say.

Her fur so shining-smooth.

It bounces and rolls

like waves of water,

crashing as she runs through the night.

The ginger envelops the currant

while brick-red and crimson latch on.

It's like a dance, I see

the colors woven together so intricately.

She howls her mournful song,

a symphony for those she has lost.

Who does the red wolf yearn for?

Perhaps if I ask, she will tell.